


Unwind

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3340844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Ah.” Aramis chuckles, his gaze flicking to Athos’s neck. “I am not surprised that you remain oblivious to its more…alluring qualities.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ComeHitherAshes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeHitherAshes/gifts).



> To make up for having explored the dark side of the scarf in [Breath](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3278258). This did, however, insist upon being more fluff than smut!

“Athos, my friend, I rather think you are overdressed.”

An impish grin beams from behind Porthos’s shoulder and Athos raises an eyebrow in the direction of the bed. Aramis and Porthos are sprawled there together comfortably, dressed in only their smallclothes.

“What ’e means,” Porthos elaborates, “is get your clothes off an’ get over ’ere.”

“I hardly think there is room enough for me.” Athos is content just to be sat there, in the chair beside the fire, a cup of wine in his hand and his friends nearby. He doesn’t want to intrude any further. Porthos, however, has other ideas. He props himself up on one elbow to better fix Athos with an adamant stare.

“There’s _always_ room for you.”

There is something compelling in that earnest gaze that Athos cannot refute, a sincere desire for which Athos has so far failed to fathom the reason but is powerless to resist. When Aramis joins in, beckoning with a smile and a wave of his hand, Athos puts down his wine and stands.

He can feel their eyes on him as he unbuttons his doublet, pulls his shirt over his head, and keeps his gaze averted until his hand is stayed by Porthos’s gruff command: “Don’t.”

Frozen in the act of unwinding his scarf from around his neck, Athos blinks at Porthos in confusion, his eyes asking the question he isn’t sure how to ask.

“Leave it on.” Aramis’s voice is low; it’s half request, half demand, and his gaze is dark as he waits to see whether Athos will comply.

There is no denying the yearning he finds himself the subject of and Athos impulsively drops his hands, leaving the scarf in place and working on unfastening his breeches instead.

Stripped to his braies – and scarf – Athos sits on the edge of the bed, beside Porthos’s hip, still a little uncertain when faced with the easy, tactile nature of his friends. The hand that comes to rest on his thigh is a reminder that he is welcome here, and although he had never really been in doubt, that small sign of acceptance brings a smile to his lips.

A few moments later, the hand disappears, only to grasp instead at the dangling ends of his scarf. With a gentle but insistent tug, Porthos draws him down into a kiss. The hand on his scarf holds him in place, not so securely as to prevent him pulling away, but he has no wish to do so. He leans into the kiss, braces one hand against Porthos’s chest, parts his lips to the pressure of Porthos’s tongue.

A strong arm winds around his waist, pulls him into the centre of the bed, never once breaking the kiss. Sat between them, Athos is surrounded by the warmth of their bodies, a heat that increases further when another arm snakes around him from behind, the hand trailing over ribs and down across his stomach, stealing beneath linen to curl warm fingers around hot flesh. His gasp has Porthos smiling against his mouth.

Relinquishing his hold, Porthos allows Aramis to claim his own kiss, and Athos turns into his embrace, his earlier hesitation ebbing with each second. He lifts his chin as Aramis’s lips make their way along his jaw and down, heedless of the rough bristles of his beard. When they reach the barrier of the scarf, Aramis hooks a finger under the cloth, dips his tongue into the gap created. A shiver shoots down Athos’s spine and he huffs out a soft breath.

“I don’t understand.”

Aramis pauses, raises his head to meet Athos’s eyes in silent reprimand for continuing to question his worth when confronted by such irrefutable evidence of their affection. But it is something simpler, yet no less perplexing that fuels Athos’s current confusion.

“The scarf.”

“Ah.” Aramis chuckles, his gaze flicking to Athos’s neck. “I am not surprised that you remain oblivious to its more…alluring qualities.” His fingers play along the seam where scarf meets skin. “But if you are intent upon its practical uses…”

Ducking his head once more, Aramis loosens the scarf further, speaks against the newly bared skin of Athos’s neck. “It means I can do this…” He sucks a hard kiss into the flesh beneath his lips. “And it will remain hidden from sight.” Athos feels the burn of the forming bruise as teeth graze his skin. His hand tangles into Aramis’s hair. “Only we shall know it is there.”

The gentle swipe of Aramis’s tongue soothes his skin and Athos tugs his head back up for a proper kiss. There’s an appreciative hum behind them, then the whisper of fabric over his skin as Porthos pulls his scarf free and winds it thoughtfully between his fingers.

“I c’n think of a few more practical uses for this thing.”

“Porthos!” Aramis chides, but there’s a light in his eyes and Athos knows the token protest is made on his behalf.

“No.” Athos squeezes his knee to forestall any further objection. Maybe there is something to this strange fascination after all. “I am intrigued.”

A quick flash of teeth as Aramis grins. “Then perhaps we should allow Porthos to show us what he has in mind.”

At Athos’s nod, Porthos presses close. There’s a light scratch of whiskers against his shoulder, a low growl in his ear, as Porthos’s hands find his.

“With pleasure.”


End file.
